


Even After Death

by my99centdreams



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 07:27:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10680561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my99centdreams/pseuds/my99centdreams
Summary: “We’ll always have Earth,” Patrick says, arms tightening around Jonathan. It’s going to happen soon; they can feel it.But, the thing is, Jonathan doesn’t want to have Earth. He wants their souls to be one in the After. He wants to never forget Patrick’s face ever again. He wants to never have to be without him.They’re stolen from each other before Jonathan can respond.





	Even After Death

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what this is and wrote it between 3-7 AM so work with me here! This was totally going to be a latts/wilson fic but I caved :/. Anyways this is really just an excuse for me to write some pretty words hope you like it!

Jonathan remembers the smell of violets - fresh and regal - and the sound of a river burbling in the distance.

He remembers blue eyes shining, a pink mouth twisted up all sweet and welcoming, and rough hands always _always_ reaching out for him like the only thing they were made to do was hold Jonathan. He warmed every time, let out a sigh; got that feeling of an itch finally being scratched, of a long forgotten word being recovered in the knick of time, of darkness chased away by bright sunlight.

He crushed petals in his hands and dropped them one by one in Patrick’s hair as Patrick lay back with his eyes closed, face turned up towards the clear sky. He ran his hands through Patrick’s curls when he had no more petals, dragged one hand down to cup his jaw, smiling when Patrick turned to press a quick kiss to his index finger.

Patrick’s fingers rested on Jonathan’s stomach, his thumb brushing back and forth every few moments. He knew in that moment he would never feel this way again in his entire life. He watched Patrick, felt a love so deep it threatened to tear right out of his skin, screaming to be seen and heard and desired.

“Jonny?”

“Yes?”

Patrick whispered, “I can’t remember what it’s like to not be in love with you.”

*

“I’ll find you,” Jonathan insists, gripping onto Patrick’s shirt. “Just wait for me.”

Patrick’s eyebrows draw together the way they always do when he’s trying not to cry, “You promise?”

“I promise.”  
“How will you know?” Tears spill over and stain his cheeks and a piece of Jonathan’s heart breaks off and withers away to nothingness. “What if they don’t send us back?”

“My love,” Jonathan presses their foreheads together. “No matter where you are I will find you. If I have to search Earth ten times over I will. If I have to fight my way through the Underworld I will. If the Gods wish to keep you in the After I will find you.”

Patrick kisses him hard; pours centuries of passion into one last embrace. “My soul lives on only for you.”

Their souls are torn from their bodies before Jonathan can utter another word.

*

Jonathan remembers fat drops of rain splattering against the windows and the roof and the sweet smell of peaches permeating the room, remembers the slightly orange toned juice running down Patrick’s wrist as he took another bite. Jonathan watched him, suddenly starving for something a little less _sweet_.

Patrick ate like a child, chewed with his mouth open and his fingers sticky, and Jonathan wanted lick them clean more than he wanted anything else in his life. Before Patrick could take another bite Jonathan leaned in, hand loosely clutching Patrick’s wrist, and wrapped his lips around Patrick’s middle finger, savored the taste of fruit and Patrick.

Patrick’s lips parted, his eyes locked onto Jonathan’s, and he let out a shaky breath, “Yeah?”

Jonathan grinned, “Yeah.”

Patrick surged forward and Jonathan laughed, happy and open, falling back underneath the weight of Patrick. He spread his legs to bring them even closer, closed his eyes at the first drag of Patrick’s sticky fingers down his neck to his chest, finding a home over his heart.

For a minute Jonathan prayed to the Gods, to the Underworld guardians, to the Angels, to anyone that had any control over his fate in every single language he could remember, for mercy. _Please_ , he begged, _let us have just this one life together_. Patrick kissed down his chest to his belly, sloppy and wet, and Jonathan screamed for leniency: _after this one we’ll stay in the After for all of eternity, humble servants of the glorious Gods, please._

“Honey,” Patrick murmured. “Stay with me.”

“I’m with you,” Jonathan’s eyes snapped open. “I’m here.” _But, for how long_ , he thought.

*

Sometimes it takes him years to come back; he pleads and begs the Gods and if they have more important matters to attend to they make him wait. Time flies in the After, though. It’s when he’s on Earth - alone - that time crawls.

The longer he spends in the After the harder it is for him to remember what Patrick looks like and it makes the throbbing ache he feels pulse even deeper than before; he never knows exactly how long he’s in the After for, but there always comes a time when he can’t picture Patrick’s eyes or his nose or his mouth or the scars on his hands or the scattering of freckles on his shoulders.

The angels weep for them; their wings shuddering in the light, feathers shedding in sadness. They surround him, cooing and sobbing, praying for their cursed souls. Their tears cause hurricanes and floods and mudslides.

The Gods grow weary of this quickly and send him back to Earth ten years early.

*

Jonathan remembers airports, docks, train stations, interstates, and subways. Remembers soft, romantic languages dripping from foreign tongues as well as harsher, thicker languages bursting from different ones.

He’d find Patrick sitting alone in a coffee shop or chanting with a crowd at a game or nursing a drink at a bar or running in the park and he’d _feel_ it. He’d feel their souls realigning almost like he was suddenly given a second beating heart to carry inside his chest and he knew every time that he’d found him. No matter how many times they would be torn apart, no matter how many memories lost, or how many lifetimes stolen from them their souls would be entwined for all of eternity.

He searched for two years before he found Patrick in a bakery in Sao Paolo, Brazil. He called out, “Patrick?”

Patrick whipped around, eyes wide, Portuguese dancing off his tongue,“You found me.”

Jonathan smiled, nervous, he’d only been gifted in French this time around and was an extremely slow learner when it came to Portuguese. He stumbled out an, “I promised.”

Patrick rose from his seat and stumbled over, hands already outstretched _reaching_ always reaching and Jonny met him halfway, tangling their fingers together smoothly, something hot and thick blooming in his chest as their mouths met for the first time in twenty Earth years.

*

“We’ll always have Earth,” Patrick says, arms tightening around Jonathan. It’s going to happen soon; they can feel it.

But, the thing is, Jonathan doesn’t want to have Earth. He wants their souls to be one in the After. He wants to never forget Patrick’s face ever again. He wants to never have to be without him.

They’re stolen from each other before Jonathan can respond.

*

The Gods don’t let him return to Earth this time around. They don’t allow him to speak with them either.

He sinks to his knees and weeps with the Angels, clutching desperately at their wings pleading with them for help. They cuddle him close and cause storms to rip through oceans and farms and cities.

Eventually, he sleeps and does not wake for weeks at a time. His soul yearns for Patrick; tries clawing its way out to no avail. He dreams of brunches in Italy and two AM snacks in America and sweaty, ancient pubs in London. He dreams of sleeping under bridges and kissing in fields of flowers and laughing in penthouse suites. He hears his name said in at least thirty different accents over almost as many centuries: Irish, Portuguese, French, English, German, Swedish, Russian, Spanish, Italian.

Jonathan sleeps and dreams and weeps until one day the Angels wake him, prodding at him impatiently, murmuring in the only language Jonathan has never been gifted. He listens to them speak for a minute before growing tired once again, wishing only to close his eyes and dream of his love. The Angels grow frustrated and shove at him gently until he’s on his feet. Jonathan tries, “I don’t understand a word of what you’re speaking. What do you need me to do?”

They herd him in the direction they want him to go, cooing all the while, and Jonathan…Jonathan doesn’t dare stop now.

As he walks it gets harder to breathe until finally his chest cracks open and the smell of peaches is so thick he can almost taste it, he sobs, “ _Please_.”

The Angels grow louder and louder as they trudge forwards until, suddenly, their chatter dies. Jonathan takes two more steps before coming to a grinding halt, feels that familiar pounding begin to bloom within him. His arms raise of their own accord, reaching out for the last time. Jonathan gazes out into the light, arms outstretched, soul blooming, and finally _finally_ spots him. _Patrick_.

He gasps, “Patrick!”

“Jonathan!” He’s running, arms out, and Jonathan musters up all his energy to meet him halfway.

The second their fingers touch their souls burst out of their chests and dance together until they’re recognizable only as a single entity. The Angels gather around them once more, brushing their wings against their joined souls in a blessing of sort, a soft pink light radiating outwards. And in that moment he realizes that he has never truly known peace until now.

“The Angels broke the curse,” Patrick says. “We’re free.”

“Free,” Jonathan repeats in disbelief. Joy and adoration and love ooze from each of their souls into the other and Jonathan thinks about never having to forget another moment and almost breaks down. He presses tiny kisses to Patrick’s forehead, nose, and cheeks, “For eternity.”


End file.
